Everything's Different, yet Everything's the Same
by cleo4u2
Summary: Draco Malfoy, werewolf and Slytherin traitor, stands with Harry Potter in the last battle for the fate of the wizarding world. They lose; Harry dies, but something goes wrong in the last moments of Draco's life and he has cast back in time to when he was eleven years old. Now the fate of the world and Harry Potter rests in his hands. Compliant up to Book 5 before time line change.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

It wasn't supposed to end like this. That was all Draco could think as he knelt in the snow, arms around the only man who had ever seen something more than the Darkness inside him. Harry was supposed to face Voldemort alone. It was supposed to be the battle of the century, one that would live on in the history books. Harry was never meant to die like this.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Weasleys and Granger fall with the same blank, staring eyes as Harry. A tortured, primal scream filled the air and he knew it was his own as the wolf inside him tried to take over. He didn't fight the change, but preventing the werewolf mind from taking control was almost too much. What was the point in resisting, anyways? Harry was dead and to fall into the primal nature of the werewolf would be a soothing balm to his grief.

A spell hit Draco and bounced off, the werewolf immunity protecting him from the very spell that had killed Harry moments before. He couldn't give in; he had made a promise. If Harry fell, if the last Horcrux was broken, he had promised The Boy Who Lived that he would complete the mission.

Howling his grief to the sky, Draco tore himself from Harry's corpse and leaped at the first Death Eater he saw. The man fell in a spray of blood, his throat tore from his neck, and the werewolf was on the next dark wizard without pause. Never using a spell, he killed all three and stood alone in the field, chest heaving with exertion. Amber eyes lit on the too still form of his mate and again he howled. Harry had never returned his love, but he had been kind and never told a soul Draco's secret. That Harry had never pushed him away was even more of a miracle. Since the Slytherin traitor had no choice over who the wolf chose as a mate, he had been eternally grateful. Being near Harry, being his friend and confident, had been enough. Now, his mate was dead.

"Well done," a sibilant voice drifted from the trees and Draco spun to see Voldemort emerge from the forest. Dark robed figured flitted about him and with horror he realized they had been set up. A low growl rumbled in his throat and the Dark Lord laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, dear boy, you were betrayed."

"_Who..._?" he tried to ask, but unable to speak in this form Draco merely growled again and tried to will calm back into his body. He had to revert, become human, or he could never fulfill his promise. Tilting his head to the side in a parody of curiosity, Voldemort watched him begin to shift back. When he was half way finished, the dark wizard smiled and raised his wand, never having intended to face Draco in a fair fight.

"Avada kedavra!"

With a mouth only half made for speech, Draco Malfoy also cast the killing curse and prayed to whatever God was watching. The incantation that left his mouth was garbled and distorted, but a jet of sickly green light burst from his wand nonetheless. Speeding toward Voldemort, their spells clashed together and burst in a brilliant flash. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, he opened them again to stare in horror as his hand began to disintegrate even as the last of the change left his body.

"No," he whispered and again heard Voldemort's sibilant laughter. That was the last thing Draco heard as his body turned to sand.


	2. Chapter 2: The Disastrous Meeting

Sun streaming through lace curtains woke Draco from a deep, restful sleep. The nightmare, for it had to be a nightmare if he was still alive, had been so vivid. Harry dead, Voldemort laughing, his own body…Draco shuddered and rolled onto his side to stare at an all too familiar room. It wasn't his room in Grimmauld Place, though. This was his room at Malfoy Manor, a mansion that had burned down five years ago on the night he was changed.

Sitting up with a jerk, he knew immediately something was very wrong. Besides it being impossible that he was _here_, he was missing something; something that had been a part of him so long he no longer thought of it as 'other'. Staring at a portrait of Salazar Slytherin hanging before his bed, Draco finally put his finger on it. The wolf was gone. It wasn't possible and yet the animal presence was nowhere to be found. He was human again.

Hurriedly yanking off the covers, he quickly got to his feet, but froze again. He was _short_. Feeling all too much like Alice in Wonderland, Draco carefully hesitantly approached the standing mirror in the corner of his room and could only stare in wide-eyed shock. Draco Malfoy stood reflected back at him, all of eleven years old.

The implications crashed through his mind. Was this some sort of dream or illusion? Had his mind snapped? Was this heaven or some other afterlife? Or, was it possibly, that he had gone back in time? The final, disastrous battle crashed through his thoughts and Draco found himself praying that it was true. If he had gone back in time…he could stop it all from happening.

"Draco!" the imperious female voice jerked Draco from his musings with a start. "Draco, you had better be awake! We have a lot of shopping to finish for your first year at school!"

A rush of longing filled Draco's chest and made his decision for him. Even if this was some sick game of Voldemort's, he would play along as if it was reality. He had no way to know one way or the other, but here...his mother was still alive.

"_Draco_!"

"Coming mother!" he called, jerked from his reverie once more and hurried to his wardrobe. The sense of unreality was nearly overwhelming as he dressed in black robes with a green trim of a quality hadn't worn in years. Once dressed, he reached for his wand in its place by his bedside and froze for a long moment before remembering – he didn't have one yet.

Growling in displeasure, Draco was forced to go downstairs to have his mother fix his hair. The second he laid eyes on her, however, he flung himself into her arms, startling Narcissa who had grown used to her son's ideas of what it meant to be an adult. Displays of affection had been the first to go, but now the boy clung to her and she couldn't help but smile as she returned the embrace. Before she could ask what was wrong, Lucius cleared his throat, disapproval of the display clear on his face. She sighed at him in exasperation, but Draco didn't react the way either Malfoy expected to his father's frown. Taking one look at Lucius, he flung himself at the man instead, wrapping him in a tighter hug than he had his mother.

Alarmed, Lucius did something he hadn't in years and lifted his son into his arms. Draco merely pressed his face into his father's neck and held on tighter. "Draco? Son? What's the matter?" Lucius asked worriedly as Narcissa stepped up, placing a comforting hand on her child's back.

"I…" Draco hesitated, then barely whispered, "I had a dream. You both died and…and I was alone."

Even Lucius couldn't keep up the stern fatherly figure act at the pain in Draco's voice. "We're fine," he said in a soothing voice, "We're both here with you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

The tension slowly drained from the boy's body and Narcissa and Lucius allowed themselves to relax. Lifting his head, Draco kissed his mother on the cheek and released his death grip on his father's neck. "Sorry," he murmured, but there was no embarrassed blush on his cheeks. He wasn't actually sorry.

"It's alright," Narcissa assured and affectionately combed her fingers through his hair before laughing. "Your hair is a mess. Come on, let me fix it and we'll be on our way. I'll buy you something special, alright?

"You spoil him, Sissy," Lucius drawled, setting the boy down.

Draco just shook his head and squeezed his mother's hand, "I don't need anything." Both parents reverted to their previous alarm at this statement, but the blonde just grinned. This time around, everything would be different.

* * *

The rest of the day started exactly like the first time around. They stopped for writing supplies, chatted with the Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, then dropped Draco off at Madam Malkins. The man's - no, boy now - heart was pounding in his chest as he remembered what would happen next: the disastrous first meeting. He was fidgeting so badly, the squat seamstress kept poking him with pins and ordering him to stand still. Finally, the front door chimed and Draco heard a voice he only barely recognized. Without puberty, Harry sounded almost like a little girl. With horror, he wondered what _he_ sounded like since his voice had never been as deep as Harry's. He was so lost in this realization, he didn't even notice the boy in question climb the stool next to him until he spoke.

"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" Harry asked and Draco was immediately amused that things were already changing, even if the question was the exact same one he had asked last time.

"Yeah," Draco drawled, looking over and smiling at Harry. It was strange to look at the boy and not feel the needs of his wolf coursing through his veins. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then we're going to look at racing brooms, though first years aren't supposed to have them." The words just poured off his tongue, like this really was the first time they'd met. "Have you got your own broom?"

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," came the answer and this time Draco looked over to see the shy, embarrassed look on Harry's face.

"Oh," Draco feigned ignorance, "are you muggle born?"

"No," Harry said for the third time in a row and Draco had to resist the urge to shake the Boy Who Lived.

"But you don't know what Quidditch is?"

"I was raised by muggles. My parents are dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry," and this time, Draco was. Immediately he saw a softening in Harry's green eyes. "Well, Quidditch is a wizarding sport. It's played in the air on brooms and there are four balls-"

"That's you done, my dear," Madam Malkins announced and Draco felt himself scowl.

"Maybe I can tell you later," he offered and climbed off his stool. "We might even be in the same House! I'll probably be in Slytherin, but I wouldn't mind Griffindor." Ignoring the shocked look the seamstress shot him, he offered Harry his hand, "Draco Malfoy."

To his immense pleasure, the wizarding savior, took his hand, "Harry Potter."

Grinning, Draco said a quick goodbye and hurried into the street, ignoring Hagrid. Only later did he realize he hadn't reacted to the name properly, that he had ignored Madam Malkin's surprised gasp. There was nothing for it, though. He could only hope Harry was too ignorant of his own history and the wizarding world to notice. Then he could only hope the boy didn't remember.


	3. Chapter 3: A Toad Named Trevor

The month between meeting Harry in Diagon Alley and the train ride to Hogwarts was the hardest of Draco's life. Like before, his time was filled with last minute tutoring sessions, lectures from his father, and fretting by his mother. Unlike last time, she wasn't fretting over sending her only son away for nearly a year, but her son's new attitude which had her convinced he had been traumatized by what his parents now called "The Nightmare". She checked in on him every hour and left Draco without any privacy. On the other hand, his father was pleased by the change and his son's nearly prodigal ability to cast spells. Unfortunately, Lucius had threatened on more than one occasion to put him in Durmstrang or hire private tutors to keep up with his remarkable skill. It had taken every ounce of Draco's cunning to convince his father Hogwarts was the right place for his genius son. As much as he loved and had missed his parents, their doting was quickly grating on his nerves.

Far worse than all that, however, was Draco's frightening realization two weeks before the Hogwart's Express was to depart. Practicing on the brand new broomstick his father had bought him on their trip to Diagon Alley, Draco remembered, with a shock, that the first time around, Lucius had refused him the purchase. Not only that, but this time his father had insisted on purchasing the gift for his son. He remembered his father's pride because the Firebolt had been the last one in the store. He remembered a brown parcel delivered to one Harry Potter to become Seeker of the Gryffindor team. Had it all because of "The Nightmare" and if one interaction with his parents? What would his plans change?

The shock was so great, Draco fell off his broom and hit the ground with a thud. Laying on his back, staring up at the sky, Draco's big plans crumbled about his ears. There would be no exposing Quirell as Voldemort's host as soon as he got to school. No confession to Dumbledore about the Dark Lord's return or his own miraculous travel through time. What else would change if he interceded? Would he make Voldemort stronger? Would he make Potter weaker? Could his meddling get his mate – _former_ mate – killed? Rapidly, Draco's thoughts spiraled away from Harry. Could he allow himself to not be bitten by the werewolf? Could he save his parents from that catastrophic attack? How much could he really change without ruining everything?

It was with effort that he pulled himself from the unanswerable questions and stared blankly at the broom that had caused all this. His back ached from when he'd fallen, but it was dull and distant. It was just a broom, but a broom that should have been sold to someone else. What else had he changed already?

* * *

The first day of school dawned bright and sunny, which was the complete opposite of Draco's mood. For the fourth time he batted his mother's hand from his pristine hair and continued to nod as his father checked and triple checked everything he needed was packed. They had arrived early using the floo network and now waited at the edge of Platform 9 and ¾ for the Hogwarts Express to arrive.

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, not going outside into the muggle train yard to find Harry and take him through the barrier. The Weasley's would take care of that and Draco couldn't interfere with the friendship that was meant to grow between Ron and the Boy Who Lived. He had almost decided to join Slytherin after all, but had dismissed the idea. There was no choice but to accept that he couldn't know exactly how his actions would change their future. In fact, the only big plan he still had was to find the bastard who had betrayed them and rip his heart out before he could kill everyone Draco had cared for. All Draco could do was affect things minimally, for the better, and use this opportunity to befriend Harry instead of antagonize him. That started with going through the motions of his first day and praying his father forgave him.

As the train pulled up, Draco knew he would be one of the first aboard, but his father had assured him it was to get the best compartment. After hugging his mother goodbye and shaking his father's hand, he boarded the magical train and picked the same seat as last time. His trunk was stowed in the same place and he quickly pulled on his school robes, just like last time.

The repetition was so strange, yet so familiar, and he was again forced to wonder if this was merely a dream. If this was all fake and there really was no way for him to change the outcome of the war then it was the perfect torture. When the attack on the Malfoy Manor was to take place, how hard would he try to save his parents only to watch them die screaming all over again? Things had changed, but it could just be his subconscious or Voldemort tricking him into believing this was reality.

Like every other time his mind had wandered this path, Draco was left with no other option but to continue on as if he could save Harry, himself, and the others. Thankfully, he wasn't left alone with his thoughts for long. Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy found his compartment and made themselves at home. That's where things changed again because Draco couldn't bring himself to banter with his childhood friends. Their betrayals had not yet happened, but they were still fresh wounds on his heart. When the werewolf bit him in the summer before Sixth Year, they had been the first to turn on him. And yet, the three former friends were just children, laughing and joking, excited about their first year of school, wondering what being in Slytherin would be like. He almost considered trying to change their futures along with his own. Pansy was remarkable with charms and Crabbe and Goyle were as skilled at dueling as he was, being his partners over the years. They could help. They could stay his friends.

Then, halfway through the train ride, there was the incident with the toad. Draco had honestly forgotten it had happened at all, it had been so long ago. Crabbe left to find the lady with the trolley for a second helping of sweets and came back with Trevor, Longbottoms pet toad, instead.

"What in God's name is that?" Pansy demanded, nose turned up in disgust.

"Swiped it," the beefy eleven year old crowed, clearly pleased with himself. "Who would bring a stupid toad as a pet, eh?"

Laughing in the harsh, braying fashion he had, Goyle held out his hands for the creature. "Give it here! We can throw it out the window, or…or drop it down a girls shirt!"

"Yeah, that'll be great," Crabbe laughed, but the sound cut short and Draco's hands snatched the toad from the air as he tossed it to his friend.

Finally interested, Pansy leaned forward. "What are you going to do with it, Draco?" the nosy girl asked, clearly assuming he had some prank in mind.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Draco forced himself to smile at her. "You'll see," he promised and slipped past the two bulky boys and out into the hall way. He could remember the first time around, when they had joked and tossed the toad around, laughing and tormenting the small creature. Eventually it had ended tucked into Crabbe's robe pockets and left behind on the school boats. Now all he could think of was Longbottom's face when the man had saved his life in their Seventh Year. He had hated Draco even then, but he was on Harry's side and it was all the tenacious Gryffindor had cared about. There was no way he was torturing the guy's pet frog.

Passing down the corridor, the loud chatter of every Hogwart's student talking at once crashed against his ears. The wolf would have been cringing at the sound, but to Draco's merely human ears, it was just background noise. Somewhere in this mess he would find Longbottom and give the boy back his pet. And he did, standing with Hermione Granger at the very compartment occupied by Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

Eyes wide, he was about to turn around to avoid encountering them so soon when Neville spotted his toad. "Trevor!" he cried and happily took the toad from Draco's hands. "Thank you! Where did you find him?"

"In the corridor on the way to the loo," the blonde lied smoothly and nodded politely to Granger.

"That was very kind of you," the muggleborn witch said in the bossy tone he remembered so well, "You really shouldn't be out in the corridors, though. We'll be arriving soon. I'm Hermione Granger. What's your name?"

"Draco Malfoy," he replied, holding out his hand for both to shake. The girl took it, but Longbottom let out an undignified squeak and stared at him with wide eyes.

"_The_ Malfoys?" the boy asked fretfully, "My Gran told me about your family. Dark wizards and known supporters of You-Know-Who!"

Draco couldn't help it, his ears turned pink as he blushed and felt like an experiment with the look Granger fixed on him. "Right, excuse me," he muttered and pushed past them. Without thinking, he ducked into the nearest open compartment and slid the door shut.

Behind him, someone abruptly stopped talking about a break in at Gringotts and Draco cursed himself. Slowly he turned around and came face to face with the exact people he was trying to avoid. He had no idea what to do or say. Since the door had been open, there was a good chance they'd heard Longbottom's idiotic, yet truthful, declaration. Weasley likely already knew about his family's history, but he had been hoping to convince Harry he was a good guy before he found out about his dad. So much for that.

Unsurprisingly, it was Potter who came to his rescue, "Draco, right? We met at Madam Malkin's."

"Yeah, I remember," the blonde replied, relief plain on his face. "D'you mind if I join you? I'm, uh-"

"Hiding?" Ron offered and Draco skewered him with a look.

"You were going to tell me about Quidditch, remember?" Harry interrupted, stopping the fight before it even began. Draco was admittedly impressed. He and Weasley had never really gotten along and he didn't expect to this time around either. The best he could hope for was tolerance and the way they met it was certainly not starting out that way.

"What? You don't know Quidditch?" Ron blurted, looking dumbfounded, "Oh you wait, it's the best…"

As Draco sat down, he found himself animatedly talking about Quidditch with Ron and explaining the game to Harry. To his surprise, he got along fairly well with the redhead, especially when the realized they liked the same Quidditch team. Harry was right there with them, asking questions and listening as the other two boys discussed strategy, players and famous matches. Ron had, of course, not gone to nearly as many games as Draco, but he didn't rub it into the boy's face like he would have before. By the time they were interrupted again, he realized with a jolt that he had just made friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.


	4. Chapter 4: The Second Sorting

No matter how lost in conversation he became, Draco couldn't stop focusing on everything that was _different_. The first thing he noticed was how Crabbe and Goyle didn't show up to bully his two new friends. Apparently without Draco they stayed in their compartment the entire trip with Pansy. After that, as far as he knew, all went the same. Granger popped in and told the two to change, then they arrived at the station to hear Hagrid calling all the first years to the docks.

Instead of déjà vu, this time Draco was struck by nostalgia. They were escorted across the lake on magical boats to see the best view of Hogwarts. He could hear the whispers of awe and excitement, but just watched the castle with a small smile on his face. It had been his home away from home, especially after he became a werewolf. It was as much like coming home as waking up in his bed a month ago.

The trip up to the school was full of as many memories as the trip across the lake and he continued to smile all through Professor McGonagall's introductory speech. Draco could hardly believe he was back, or how weird it was to know exactly what was going to happen before it did. He was even different, far quieter than he had been at this age. The twenty year old mind in his eleven year old body had no use for inane chatter, though it couldn't stop the fidgeting. Like before, he just could not sit still.

"Nervous?" surprised, Draco looked not at Harry, but at Ron as the source of the question.

"A little," he admitted.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harry asked.

Ron's looked just as nervous as Draco, "Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

At the words, he watched the dread spread out over the faces around him. Granger started muttering spells she had already learned, Longbottom squeezed his toad so hard it croaked, and Harry looked like he wanted nothing more than to sink into a hole in the ground and disappear. It was so strange, seeing these people react with such fright. He had fought with them, laughed with them…died with them. Now they were just children. _Scared_ children.

"It's no big deal," Draco piped up, "My dad told me about it. We're sorted based on our personalities and which house will help us the most to succeed in life." Every pair of eyes in the hall turned to him. Despite the many gazes, he focused his last words on Harry, "Don't worry. You can't fail." The grateful smile he received was all Draco needed to quell his own nerves. He could do this, no matter how pissed his father would be when he found out, if he could save Harry.

The school ghosts chose that moment appear and take all the attention of Draco. Unlike the others, he wasn't surprised and grinned at some of the more frightened faces. Then McGonagall was back, ordering them into a line so they could file into the Great Hall. It was everything he remembered, floating candles, enchanted ceiling, whispering students and the Professors looming over it all on their raised table at the end of the hall. Despite himself, Draco's gaze settled onto Quirrel and his giant, purple turban. He couldn't help but shiver, knowing what was under that cloth wrap. Was Voldemort watching them now? He really couldn't tell, but he knew what was left of the Dark Lord was there, leeching off of Quirrel like a…well, like a leech. Did Dumbledore already suspect the Professor of being such a monster?

Abrupt applause alerted Draco that the Sorting Hat had finished his song. Professor McGonagall started calling names and he watched as everyone was sorted ahead of him exactly as before. Crabbe and Goyle went into Slytherin, Granger went to Gryffindor, as did Longbottom. Then it was his turn and, taking a bracing deep breath, he walked to the stool and took his seat. The memory of his first sorting was vivid: his pride at his instant Slytherin sorting and the enthusiastic greetings of his House.

Not this time.

The hat slipped over his eyes and a small voice whispered to him. "Interesting, very interesting. Not Slytherin, then? You've made up your mind? Well, then. As you like, it will be GRYFFINDOR." The last word was shouted to the entire Great Hall and he heard the whispers immediately from the Slytherin table. Was this how Black had felt when he betrayed his family to join the rival House? Eyes pierced him, scowls promised hexes in the halls, and the Gryffindor house wasn't any more welcoming. The Weasleys were fixing identical glares at him as he walked rigidly to their table. He imagined he looked to be in shock, but really he was terrified. Sitting next to Hermione Granger, he knew the future had just changed irrevocably, one way or the other, and there was no going back.


	5. Chapter 5: Consequences

The first meal was over quickly for everyone else but Draco. Ron and Harry were plowing through their food, Granger and Percy Weasley were discussing the upcoming lessons, and he, Draco Malfoy, was hiding. He spent all of that first meal with the Gryffindor House with his head down, just listening to them all talk and trying not to interfere. Not that he minded any, it gave him more time to absorb his own emotions. Despite being twenty - sort of - he was still terrified of disappointing his father, not to mention Severus. He hadn't dared look up at the High Table once in fear of the man's reaction. He knew, of course, that the man was Dumbledore's through and through, but it didn't mean he would be pleased with Draco's sorting. Severus might be on the side of the Light, but he was still a Slytherin.

After the meal, the First Years were lead to their dormitory - Draco couldn't decide if he liked the cozy tower of the peaceful dungeon over the lake - where all the boys collapsed almost instantly into sleep. In the morning, classes went better than expected and his relations with his housemates drastically improved. Among all the First Years, Draco had a singular skill: He knew how to navigate Hogwarts without getting lost. It made him invaluable to the rest of his class and the other students quickly forgave any rumors about his family once they realized they wouldn't be late again as long as he was around. Draco certainly didn't mind. Being the center of a large group of Gryffindors all the time kept the Slytherins from trying to hex him between classes.

Thanks to his advanced wizarding knowledge, Draco didn't even have to pay attention during said classes. Instead he spent the time doodling on parchment, imagining all the different ways he could change the past with his change of House, and wondering why he was still set on protecting Harry. The werewolf's need to be with and protect its mate was gone, there was nothing sexual between them, and yet the thought of those green eyes, sightless and staring, was worse than the memory of his own death. He had to discover who had betrayed them and, more importantly, why. No matter if Harry would never be his mate again, he _had_ to keep the boy safe.

At the moment, it was impossible to meet either goal since he was merely an eleven year old boy. Instead, Draco spent most of his time talking with his new friends between and after classes, building on a relationship he hoped would help his mission in the years to come. To his surprise, he was inducted into the golden trio without any fuss. Ron took it upon himself to teach Harry and Draco wizard's chess while Hermione found him to be an engaging study partner since, unlike the two other boys, he could tolerate her presence (a fact that left him wondering after his own sanity).

Not everyone in the House took a shine to Draco, however. Longbottom was still afraid of him, but the Weasley twins, Fred and George, had decided he was a perfect target for their pranks. After his second quill went up in flames, Draco knew he had to retaliate or the twins would never stop. So, on the fourth day after Defense Against the Dark Arts, the blonde sat in the Gryffindor common room and watched Fred and George with his soon-to-be trademark smirk. The two knew something was up, but were unable to tell just what it was. After the fourth time they had cast a detect magic spell on their school things and found nothing, the twins gave up.

Maybe they wanted to work on their homework - yeah right - or maybe they wanted to write up some new plan with Lee Jordan, but eventually Fred (or George) reached for his quill and the second the boy's hand touched the feather, it started to multiply. Quill after quill spilled were conjured so fast that in seconds the pile was three feet high. Cries filled the room, both of surprise, horror, and laughter, but the multiplying charm didn't stop there. Only once the entire couch Fred, George, and Lee sat on was covered with quills did the spell fizzle out.

Silence filled the room as the quills stopped popping into existence and Draco got to his feet. Wide eyed, one of the twins murmured, "Brilliant," before the other fixed his gaze on the first year.

"This your doing, Malfoy?" he demanded and Draco merely snatched three quills from the top of the pile.

"No idea what you're talking about. I think, however, that these belong to me." The statement was met with a roar of laughter and George (or Fred) freed his arm to offer Draco his hand. Hesitantly, the blonde took it and asked, "Truce?"

"You're not as much of a git as we thought. That was bloody brilliant. "

Draco couldn't help but smile.

* * *

The next day at breakfast, Draco's good mood vanished when his father expressed his displeasure in his sorting. The whole school heard it, actually. As Hedwig landed and affectionately nipped Harry's ear while dropping off a note, a large eagle owl landed in front of Draco's plate and dropped off a bright red letter before soaring off again.

"Oh, blimey," he heard Ron whisper, "Malfoy's got a Howler."

Instantly the whispers went all up and down the table and every eye fixed on the blonde. Unable to do open it, he just stared at the letter as everyone else stared at him. Finally Neville broke the silence, urging him quietly to open it. "It'll be worse if you wait," he promised as the Howler began to smoke. Draco almost made a run for it. At the thought, he growled quietly and straightened. The regal posture was like a shield; he was Malfoy, no matter what humiliation his father was about to heap upon him. He would not run away like a coward.

Wordlessly, he tore open the letter. "Draco, you are a disgrace to the Malfoy name," Lucius' voice thundered through the Great Hall and, to his surprise, that was it. The Howler burst into flames and fluttered to the table as ashes. Silence filled the hall and Draco _knew_ everyone was staring at him. It was impossible to keep the humiliation from showing on his face as his ears and cheeks turned a bright pink.

Into the silence, Harry was the one to speak. "What exactly did you do?"

Draco's grey eyes fixed on the Boy Savior, his mouth opening and closing upon his explanation. What was he supposed to say? He was sorted into Gryffindor? He'd chosen to be friends with the boy who killed Voldemort? It was both of those things, but how could he tell his friend that? Harry would blame himself.

"I read that pureblood families put a lot of emphasis on tradition," Hermione came to his rescue. "The Malfoy family has been in Slytherin for generations, I'll bet, and now Draco is in Gryffindor. His father probably thinks it's a break of tradition."

"Well, it is," Ron blurted, but quickly rushed to correct his mistake as the Hall began to buzz once more, "I mean, that's not a bad thing. It's much better that you're in our house than Slytherin. Who would Harry 'n' me play chess with, yeah?"

"And who would I study with? Really, Draco, you're better off with us. We're your friends and your father will accept that." Granger hesitated, exposing her attempt to reassure him without really knowing what she was talking about. "In time, I mean, I'm sure he will."

"Thanks," Draco murmured and felt a hand on his shoulder.

Harry smiled at him, boyish and full of confidence, and Draco knew he would never forget this moment. "We're still your friends, no matter what your father says. Why don't you come with me to Hagrid's after Potions?"

Still, he almost said no. Ron was supposed to go after all, but the redhead quickly piped up, "I want to go to, that alright?"

"Sure," Harry nodded and jotted down a note on a piece of parchment before handing it back to Hedwig. "It'll be grand."

Draco chose not to point out that both boys had left out Hermione again.

* * *

Potions went surprisingly smoothly, considering Draco had been dreading seeing Severus for the entire week. Sitting between Ron and Granger, Potter on Weasley's other side, he drew little attention. Like the first time he sat here, Snape went after Harry with a viciousness only long held hatred could bring out in a man. At his side, Hermione lost her mind trying to answer questions not even posed to her, but he kept his hand down even though he knew the answers as well. This was about old rivalries, not about knowledge. Snape just wanted to prove Potter wasn't what everyone but the boy himself thought he was.

The class continued to proceed as expected. They took notes and then divided up to practice making a potion to cure boils. Then Neville blew up his cauldron and Snape lost it, not on Harry, but on Draco. "Mister Malfoy!" the Professor snapped, "Why didn't you stop him from adding the quills too soon? Thought it would make you look good? You will stay after class."

"That's not-" Potter started before Ron kicked him to shut him up.

"Not what, Mister Potter? Fair?" Severus glowered. "Your classmate is currently in agony as boils erupt all over his body. I fail to see how that is fair when you or Mister Malfoy could have put a stop to it. Another point from Gryffindor."

If Snape had not chosen then to dismiss the class, he likely would have had a mutiny on hand from half of the room. The other half, however, took gleeful pleasure in the scolding and was smirking at both him and Harry. If he hadn't been among them the first time around, Draco would have hated them. As it was, he realized they would have their first chance to catch him alone and, more importantly, they would realize that too. Crabbe and Goyle were already wearing the viciously pleased look they got before committing some act of violence. Draco's stomach plummeted to his feet. How could Snape do this to him?

"We'll wait for you in the hall," Harry promised and Draco felt himself flush. He _wasn't_ an eleven year old boy who needed rescuing by the Boy Who Lived. He was a _wizard_ and if he couldn't defeat some sniveling children in a duel, he deserved whatever they threw at him.

Shaking his head, he kept cleaning up the potions area he shared with Hermione. "Hagrid's. I'll be fine, Harry. It's just Snape. The worst he can do is give me detention for the year."

"You sure?" Ron asked and Draco nodded mutely. Reluctantly, both boys filed from the room with Granger right behind them. She cast him a single, worried look before darting away.

Once the classroom cleared, Severus rounded on him. "What in the name of Merlin's beard do you think you're doing?" he demanded, pointing an imperious finger at Draco. "Gryffindor?! Honestly, Malfoy, could you be any stupider? You're belong in _Slytherin_. Come to your senses. I'm sure I can get the Headmaster to sort you properly if you ask for it."

"No, sir, I'm a Gryffindor," Draco replied stiffly, "and I don't care how mad you or my father is, I...I'm happy there. I have friends; real friends."

"Potter is not your friend," Snape snapped. "He's a bully and a brat; you're nothing to him. Watch; he'll drop you like a rock once he's bored."

Draco's eyes widened, then he once more straightened. Chin held high, he slammed the last of his books into his bag and snapped, "Thank you, Professor, for telling me how much you think I'm worth. Now if that's all, I would like to catch up with my _friends_."

Frowning, the Potions Master seemed at a lost for words for the first time Draco could remember. With a careless wave of his hand, he dismissed the blonde and vanished into his own office. Draco was uncertain if he was grateful, or unhappy that the confrontation had been so short lived.

Snatching up his things, he darted for the classroom door, completely forgetting about the Slytherins waiting for him. It was only his rushed exit from the classroom that kept Crabbe from getting a good hold on him. Catching fistfuls of Draco's robes instead of his body , he jerked the blonde to a stop just as Draco spotted the rest of his former friends. Goyle, Pansy, and Zabini all grinned maliciously at him from their positions against the wall, wands out and pointed right at his chest.

Immediately he grasped the situation. Crabbe was supposed to have grabbed him and held him while the other three hexed the blazes out of him. Unfortunately, the boy had snagged only his robe and Draco dropped gracelessly to the ground to avoid three jinxes cast in harmony. Without even getting up, the blonde's wand appeared in his hand.

"_Protego_!" he shouted, getting his shield between himself and the next round of curses. Crabbe kept trying to haul him to his feet to give his friends a better shot, but couldn't get closer to really be effective with all the hexes flying around. Holding his shield charm in place was harder than Draco expected. Without the solid core of magic he had built up over the years, the shield quickly started to fade under the assault of spells. It was long enough, however. As the protection charm failed him, he cast his third hex and watched as Pansy fell to the ground in a full body bind.

"What did you do?!" Crabbe shouted in shock as he stared at his friends. Next to Pansy, Zabini stood petrified, still ready to throw another curse while Goyle had been punched so hard by his _Affligo_ jinx he was unconscious. It was technically a Dark spell, but Draco had never had any illusions about being Light.

Scrambling to his feet, Draco didn't reply to the shout, just pointed his wand at the boy and slowly backed away. He didn't care what kind of story they concocted, he knew it wouldn't be the truth. Not one of the Slytherins would want to admit that they had lost four to one in an ambush against a Gryffindor. Of course, it would also mean they would want revenge even more than before. They would go out of their way to get it, just like he had done to Harry.

Reaching the corner of the corridor, Draco Malfoy turned and ran.


	6. Chapter 6: The Rememberall

"Okay, so what's the matter?"

Turning away from the window looking out over the lake, Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry. Honestly, he was surprised that he and Ron had managed to even think of anything else beside the Gringotts break in. Since their trip to Hagrid's it was all they talked about. Who could have done it, what did Hagrid remove from the vault, etc., etc. until Draco had wanted to scream.

When Draco didn't respond, Ron joined in, "Yeah mate, you've been awfully quiet since Potions. Snape didn't give you detention, but _something_ is bothering you."

"I…" brow furrowed, he wasn't certain how to answer the question. In his time, he wouldn't have had to explain beyond the fight in the corridor and they would have understood. This time, he hadn't even told them about the four on one duel out of fear they'd think he was making up stories. Even if he had told them, he wasn't sure two eleven year olds could understand how difficult it was for Draco to not completely unleash and destroy his enemies, even when those enemies were eleven year old children. He had left them in relatively good condition considering he knew they would be coming back for more until they were the ones walking away from the fight. _His_ Harry would have understood how hard it was for Draco to do anything but what his training and instincts demanded. This wasn't his Harry any more.

"I got in a fight with some Slytherins leaving Potions," he finally said, unable to come up with another reason.

"What?! Why didn't you tell us?" Ron demanded, sitting forward eagerly. "Did you wallop them? Bet your dad taught you some right good hexes, being a dark wizard and all." Draco rocked backwards, but Ron didn't even notice the effect his words had on his friend. "Yeah, you did, didn't you? You don't look like anything's even wrong! Come on, tell us what happened."

"Ron, leave it," Harry said softly and Draco turned to see green eyes focused steadily on him.

"But-"

"Leave it," the boy repeated. "If he wants to tell us about it, he will."

"Yeah, I guess…Well, do you think it could have been an artifact?"

As Weasely ran off with the Gringotts break in again, Draco smiled gratefully at Harry who nodded and turned away. Tuning the conversation out again, he looked out over the lake and wondered why he'd ever thought that this Harry would be so much different from his Harry.

* * *

The next week was far less eventful than the first. The fight with the Slytherins didn't come up again, though Draco noticed Harry and Ron sticking close to him wherever he went. Apparently the two had taken it upon themselves to be his guardians and Draco knew better than to try to talk them out of it. Hermione, at least, thought him more than capable of taking care of himself and said as much to the other two boys. They, of course, ignored her.

The week was also a wake up call to how much he had simply forgotten after nine years. For instance, how much Ron and Harry disliked Hermione was completely unexpected. They were constantly making fun of her, though she was oblivious to their animosity. He had thought they were always friends, but the first weeks were proving that to be patently untrue. Was this his fault? Had he created some schism between the three? He _had_ to fix this.

Figuring out a way to get the Golden Trio back together was complicated, surprisingly, by Hermione's lack of knowledge of quidditch or enthusiasm in the upcoming flying classes. Along with Longbottom, she was actually nervous and refused to participate in any conversation involving flying. It left Draco pinning his hopes on her enjoying her first lesson enough to conquer the ridiculous fear she had. Maybe then he could get them all on the same page.

The morning of their flying lesson, every plan he had come up with was blown completely out of the water when Neville received a package from his Grandmother. The boy was excitedly showing off the little glass ball when the memories of what should have happened that day came flooding back to him. It came back to him in a rush, the broken arm, the dropped Rememberall, stealing the thing, throwing it at the castle, taunting Potter into trying to catch it, and the entire incident ending with Harry on the Gryffindor quidditch team. Who the hell was going to bully Potter into becoming Seeker now?

Immediately, Draco's stress levels skyrocketed and his stomach plummeted into his shoes. Apparently he went so pale so suddenly, that Harry and Hermione both asked at the same time, "You alright, Draco?"

Watching the red smoke swirl through the Rememberall, Draco was definitely not alright. "I have a bad feeling," he muttered, unable to come up with another excuse with his thoughts whirling so quickly. Would he really have to do this? Saying he didn't want Harry to hate him again was like saying Voldemort was just a little unpleasant. Before he could make up his mind to torment Longbottom or not, the Rememberall was snatched from the boy's hand. In a second, Harry and Ron were on their feet, facing off against Vincent Crabbe.

Draco was too stunned to even move. Just like when he had taken the little glass ball from Neville, Professor McGonagall arrived in seconds. "What's going on?"

"Crabbe's got my Rememberall, Professor."

Scowling, Crabbe dropped the Rememberall back onto the table. "Just looking," he said and stalked off with Pansy, Goyle and Zabini following. Draco was dizzy with deja vu.

"Malfoy, go see Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary," Professor McGonagall commanded, "You look like you're about to be sick."

"Yes, Professor," Draco muttered and got to his feet. Hope surged in his chest and he glanced at Harry before leaving the Great Hall. Maybe everything would go exactly as it was supposed to without him. Then again...maybe not.

At three thirty, Draco's stomach hadn't settled at all even though Madam Pomfrey had forced several potions down his throat. Convincing her he was well enough to go down to the flying lesson was incredibly difficult. He had honestly been on the verge of using the Imperious curse to get down there when she gave in. To keep from being late, he'd had to run all the way to the grounds, arriving red and out of breath.

* * *

"Feeling better?" Harry asked as soon as he arrived. Mutely, Draco shook his head and the scarred boy frowned. "Still have a bad feeling?"

This time Draco nodded, but any other conversation was cut off as Madam Hooch blew her whistle and began their first lesson. It started out nearly exactly the same. Hooch taught them the basics and Neville immediately broke his wrist. As she took the boy to the infirmary, Draco's heart started to race. Now was the moment of truth. Maybe he could just talk Harry into playing a game of catch? He could conjure a ball without any problems, but would it work?

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Draco jerked at the sound of _his_ words, from Crabbe's lips followed by a roar laughter from the Slytherins.

It made Draco's knees weak with relief and he snapped, "Shut up, Crabbe."

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy taunted and he realized he had taken Parvati's line. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry-babies, Malfoy."

"Look!" said Crabbe and Malfoy watched as the entire scene played out, just like it had before. Harry was beautiful on a broom, all grace and natural speed. When McGonagall came storming out of the castle, he had to struggle not to smirk. Thanks to Vincent Crabbe, Harry Potter became the youngest House player in a century.


	7. Chapter 7: There's a Troll

The next two months were a dizzying rush. Every memory of interacting with Harry and Ron was suddenly reversed. He would stand with the two boys while Crabbe said and did everything he had done. If his Harry was here, he would have said the bullying was karma or something equally stupid, but Draco just thought it was a fascinating exercise. Watching his own faults played back to him, he couldn't believe he was so oblivious to his own faults. For one, he was far too aggressive. For another, he bragged about _everything_ and couldn't back it up. The effect left him looking foolish and not nearly as intimidating. Or rather, that was how _Crabbe_ looked. Draco was no longer a bullying Slytherin, but a Gryffindor knight, a fact that occasionally sickened him.

Unfortunately, Hermione continued to be on the outs with Harry and Ron, especially after the incident with the three headed dog. Draco could still hardly believe they had survived that night, not to mention the realization that the thing was guarding the Philosopher's Stone. All Hermione cared about was they could have gotten detention. The anti-rule breaking attitude was even starting to grate on his nerves. This was not the girl he remembered and he couldn't believe that it was somehow his doing. It wasn't possible.

Other than the tension between Hermione and the three boys, Draco was enjoying his start at Hogwarts as much as the first time. The only downside, really, was the lack of contact with his parents and knowing he wouldn't be on a quidditch team this time around. He was a Seeker and the Gryffindors _had_ a Seeker. They wouldn't even have an opening on the team for years and he couldn't help but be disappointed. Flying was something Draco loved, but it felt like he had to give that up. That was why, when tension between the four First Years got too high, he would spend his time in the grounds on his broom alone.

At first, his friends were worried about him. After his "bad feeling", Harry and Granger were convinced he had a delicate constitution and were constantly asking after his health. Ron was convinced he was depressed and would take to cheering him up after being out alone. The boy took it to extremes, too, and quickly drove Draco insane. He wished they'd just understand he wanted to be alone sometimes, something he had never had to deal with before.

On Halloween, it all came to a head. Sitting at breakfast, he was fretting over the troll he remembered would show up that evening and shredding his roll instead of eating it. He must have looked pale as well because Harry asked if he was feeling well and Hermione said he should see Madam Pomfrey. Assuring them he was fine and it was merely another "bad feeling" took nearly ten minutes. Promptly after, Ron started goofing off and trying to cheer him up.

Draco lost it.

"Stop acting like an idiot," he snapped at the redhead who looked startled at the blonde's reaction. "I am _not_ depressed and if I was, I would _not_ require your buffoonery to feel better about myself. And you two," Draco whirled on Harry and Hermione, barely registering the shocked faces up and down the Gryffindor table, "I am not a fragile child to be coddled. Neither am I incapable of taking care of myself. I do not require your constant attentions, _either_."

Standing, he swept from the room, leaving silence in his wake. It was only once he was alone outside the Great Hall that he realized he had miscalculated. Picking up his pace, he took a sharp turn and headed for the courtyard. There were enough alcoves out there, it would be fairly easy to escape notice until classes started.

The quick footsteps behind him alerted Draco it was far too late for that. Quickly he assessed the ground he had to fight on and decided the courtyard was still the best place to be. There would be plenty of cover which would help even the odds against multiple attackers.

As he rushed through the open door to the courtyard, he ran straight into a tall, lean figure. Bony hands gripped his shoulders, keeping them both on their feet. "Slow down there, my boy," Dumbldore's voice reached his ears and he looked up into twinkling blue eyes. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt, would we?"

The wizard winked at him as the hurried footsteps behind him suddenly reversed direction and started heading in the opposite direction. Had the Head Master planned this?

"No, sir. Um, thank you," Draco said, taking a quick step back. Quickly he set his Occlumency shields in place, presenting nothing but a nervous eleven year old boy. At least, he hoped that's what he was doing. Against Voldemort, his shields had barely held and Dumbledore was arguably the better wizard.

"Think nothing of it, think nothing of it," the Head Master laid his hand companionably on his shoulder and steered Draco back inside. "We all require a little assistance now and then. For instance, I know the situation with your father could not have made the last few months very easy."

"I-" Draco was at a loss for words; Dumbledore had never taken this kind of interest in him before. "I'm sure it will be alright. He just isn't used to the idea."

"Very mature of you, Mr. Malfoy. I must admit, that is not the reason I sought you out this morning. It has been brought to my attention that you're not paying any attention to your lessons. The teachers also say your homework is sub par, but you never have any trouble with the practical lessons or tests."

There was no way for Draco to answer that, so he just stared up at the Head Master and waited for him to get to his point.

"Are your classes not challenging enough? Perhaps you would be more comfortable in Second Year classes."

"No!" Draco blurted and instantly regretted it as the Head Master turned a sharp on on him. "I-I mean, I've just been...slacking off a little. I wanted to join the quidditch team like Harry, but that won't happen and my dad's so mad and I haven't heard from my mother…"

Trailing off, he could see Dumbledore wasn't buying his excuses. "Perhaps you would prefer some special tutoring sessions? I would be happy to help you reach your full potential, Mr. Malfoy."

"I...I would appreciate that, sir."

"Good! Then I expect you at my office three times a week. Say during Gryffindor quidditch practice. Maybe we can keep your mind off of Mr. Potter's good fortune."

Frowning, Draco came to his friend's defense before he really thought about it. "It's not luck, sir. Harry's great at flying."

"From what I've observed, Mr. Malfoy, so are you. Remarkable, for someone your age, wouldn't you say?" The knowing look Dumbledore gave him left no doubt that the man knew something, but Draco wasn't certain what. There was no chance to ask, either. Patting him on his shoulder, the older wizard left without another word.

* * *

In Charms, Draco ignored his friends, more out of guilt from his outburst than any real lingering anger. Hermione was in a mood as well, more bossy and condescending than normal. He honestly wished Professor Flitwick would step in and put a stop to it. She was _wrong_, she just went about passing on her knowledge completely the wrong way. By the end of the lesson, Ron was seething. Walking behind him and Harry with Hermione, Draco was shocked to hear the way the redhead talked about the girl.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," he said to Harry, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

Before Draco could say a word, Hermione shoved past both boys and ran off down the hall. The tears glistening on her cheeks were clear for anyone to see.

"I think she heard you," Harry said softly.

"So? She must've noticed she's got no friends."

"I don't know why she keeps trying with you," Draco snapped, glaring at Ron so hard the redhead actually took a step back once he met the blonde's gaze. "You're living proof that man doesn't need a brain to survive."

"Malfoy, what the hell has gotten into you today?" Harry demanded, but the boy's words only changed the focus of his surging rage.

"I don't know, _Potter_. Might have something to do with your friend there making a girl cry _after_ she attempted to help him conquer his idiocy. I didn't see _you_ manage to cast the spell. Honestly, well done the both of you."

Neither boy was prepared to deal with the biting words, having never experienced the nasty side of Draco Malfoy before. Shocked, they stared as the blonde stalked off for the second time that day.

"He definitely could have gotten along in Slytherin," Ron finally muttered and Harry could only nod in agreement.

* * *

Draco spent the rest of the day trying to talk Hermione out of the girl's bathroom once he figured out where she had hidden. Her sobs tore at him since Draco was convinced her attitude that morning had been his fault. Not only that, but his outburst had clearly hurt her feelings. For hours, she wasn't having any of it. Between his harsh words and Ron's, she was convinced that everyone hated missed their next class and by the time the Halloween feast was starting in the Great Hall he had only just talked her out of the stall.

"You really called Ron an idiot?" Hermione wiped at her eyes and sat down next to Draco under the sinks.

"Not in so many words, but yeah," Draco smiled at her. "I really am sorry about this morning."

"It's alright. I'll try not to badger you so much."

"Can I make a suggestion?" Hesitantly, Hermione nodded and Draco continued gently, "If you know something someone else doesn't, ask if they'd like help first. People don't like it when you tell them they're wrong."

"I guess, it's just...why don't they want help?"

"They want help, just not to feel like idiots when they're getting it. I know that's hard for Ron, but you have to be gentle with the boy's ego."

Her laugh made Draco smile again and he got to his feet. "Mind if we go now? I don't want to explain to another girl why there's a boy in the girl's loo. Plus, I'm starving. I never got breakfast."

"Oh, sorry," Hermione took his offered hand, but froze when she got to her feet. Nose wrinkling, she asked, "What's that smell?"

"Oh God," he whispered and grabbed her wrist. "We have to run."

"What? Why?"

Draco had no chance to answer. Dragging Granger to the door, he was just reaching for the knob when it was pushed open. Towering eight feet above his head, smelling like an open sewer and ugly as sin, the troll stared down at them both with black, beady eyes.

Reversing direction, Draco hauled Hermione back as quick as his Seeker reflexes could manage. With a roar, the troll lifted his huge club and swung at both students. With arms nearly six feet long and a club as tall as Malfoy himself, the attack swept nearly the entire bathroom and left them with nowhere to hide. Stall doors, sinks, and a light fixture went flying in pieces as Draco shoved Granger to the ground and attempted to dive out of the way as well. He wasn't near fast enough. The club clipped the blonde's shoulder, sending him flying across the bathroom to crash head first into the tiled wall.

Crumpling to the floor, he tried to fumble for his wand even as the entire bathroom started to fade to black. He had to save Hermione. He had to defeat the troll, but even as he pulled his wand out, the blackness overwhelmed his vision. Someone screamed, there was a crash, and Draco knew only the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8: Friends at Last

For the second time in his life, Draco woke to sunlight after being certain he had died. Blinking owlishly at the bright light, it was only the sudden silence that alerted him to the hushed whispers before as he had returned to consciousness. After a moment, he was able to focus on the three faces hovering over his bed. Frowning, stared up at Ron, Harry, and Hermione, their nervous faces and wondered what they had done to make look that way.

"What happened?" Draco muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"You were attacked by a troll, Mr. Malfoy," Snape's imperious voice reached his ears and he jerked, not having seen the Professor where he was standing against the wall. "Miss Granger tells us you, along with Mister Potter and Mister Weasley were looking for her after she foolish ran off to tackle the troll on her own. Is this true?"

Blankly, Draco looked first at Hermione, surprised she would have said such an outright lie to a teacher. Then he looked at Ron and Harry who were silently - and hilariously - trying to convey that he needed to go along with this story without conveying the same to Snape.

"A...troll?" Draco asked, meeting Snape's piercing gaze without flinching. "Honestly, I don't remember, Professor. What [i]happened[/i]?"

The Potion Master's expression softened imperceptibly. "You took a rather bad blow from the beast before your friends," Draco didn't miss the word and smiled at his Professor, "managed to subdue it, though I am uncertain how they managed. I will leave them to tell you the rest of the story."

Turning to sweep from the room, Snape paused and looked back at the blonde, "I will tell your father you are well. He has been anxious."

The meaning behind the words crashed over Draco, relief from a weight he hadn't even realized he was carrying, and he barely managed to thank the man before he swept from the room.

"Is that a good thing?" Harry asked, looking to Hermione in his confusion.

The girl nodded, "It means his father forgave him for being sorted into Gryffindor."

"About bloody time," Ron grumbled before focusing on Draco again. "Listen, mate, we're really sorry about the other day."

"It's...it's okay," he interrupted before the redhead could go any farther. "I'm sorry, too. I was...mean."

"I'll say. You could give Crabbe a run for his money."

Madam Pomphrey heard Draco's laugh in response to this unknowingly accurate description and bustled over to make her patient drink a strange tasting purple concoction. Then she warned the three Gryffindors not to wear him out before disappearing into her office again.

"So what really happened?" Draco asked once she was gone.

Over the next few minutes, Harry and Ron regaled him with their tale. After the troll had knocked Draco across the room, Ron and Harry had charged in. Thinking quickly, they had distracted the stupid creature to keep it from finishing him and Hermione off, Ron with taunts and Harry by shoving his wand up the creatures nose (Draco was never going to touch the boy's wand again). Then in a show of genius, Ron had levitated the troll's club above his head and knocked him out.

"I can't believe we're still alive," Draco said, shaking his head in sheer amazement once they finished.

"Well," Ron said, "it was pretty amazing, but the best part was when Hermione covered for us."

Draco had guessed as much, but it was till astonishing she had actually done so. Her attitude thus far had been obnoxiously obedient to rules. Seeing his expression, Hermione blushed and tried to look nonchalant. "You all saved my life. I didn't want you to get in trouble."

"It was brilliant," Harry argued. "We got fifteen points to Gryffindor."

"Ten, if you subtract the five they took from me."

Ron shook his head, "I still say we earned more than five. More like...like fifty! We took down a troll! By ourselves!"

Laying back, Draco just smiled as he watched the three banter and argue about how many points they should or should not have earned. For the first time, things were how they were supposed to be. He imagined this would make him more of an outsider, but Draco was used to that. After being bitten and betraying his House, he had always been alone.

* * *

The next morning, Madam Pomphrey let him out of the infirmary with a stern warning to return at any sign of dizziness or headache. For some reason, she decided he couldn't be trusted because he had to assure her five or six times that he would follow her instructions to the letter. He really had to wonder what it was about him that drove everyone to believe he wouldn't seek aid if he was ill. It was absurd. When it came to his health, Draco was a baby and would be in the infirmary in an instant asking for a potion to take away his aches. Right now, he felt fine.

Better than fine, as a matter of fact, as the morning continued. At breakfast, his father's eagle owl had swooped down amongst the others to deposit not one, but two letters _and_ a package in his lap. He knew immediately what they were; a letter from each of his parents and the first of the care packages he would receive twice a week. The trespass on his father's pride and the Malfoy name _had_ been forgiven.

No amount of badgering could get Draco to open the letters or package at the table. For one, he didn't want to rub his family's fortune in everyone's face. Ron especially since his family wouldn't be able to afford the treats and presents, through no fault of their own. For another, he wanted privacy to savor his parents words. After their death, he had longed for their company and now he would have it again. He didn't want to share that with children who couldn't understand the pain. Harry could, of course, but it wasn't like Draco could tell his friend that he had lost his parents in another time and was happy to have them back. He would sound insane. Likely, he'd be asked to show proof of his knowledge and who knew what it would change.

Alone, Draco had returned to the boy's dormitory and curled up in his bed. Curtains shut tight and a silencing spell enclosing the bed, he had as much privacy as he could hope for. He started with his father's letter first:

_Draco,_

_Your teacher, Severus Snape, has informed me of the incident on Halloween involving a troll. Suffice to say I am thankful that you are safe and as well as can be expected. Your mother is also grateful, though has chosen to write you herself, as I am certain you have realized by now._

_While I must say I am still surprised by your sorting into House Gryffindor, Professor Snape has informed me that your grades are exceptional. More so, you have been offered tutelage by the Head Master himself. I am very proud of you, my son, but I urge you to caution. Professor Dumbledore has never been a supporter of our family and has more cunning than he allows to be known. Do not give him you trust implicitly and remember you are a Malfoy first and foremost._

_I expect to hear of your achievements from you directly in the future._

_Your father,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

The letter wasn't anything like Draco had received his first week at school, but he hadn't really expected it to be. Two months later, they were finally in contact for the first time since he left home. Though the letter was short, he couldn't keep the smile from his face. The stoic words were a balm on the old pain of loss in their familiarity alone. That his father was proud, something Draco hadn't expected to see in writing so soon after the sorting, did more for the ache he had felt at throwing the family traditions in his parents' faces. Reading between the lines of the letter, he could also see the concern and love his father didn't express directly. Lucius was worried he was still ill, angry that he had been hurt at all, and relieved that his son was still alive.

Despite that, he made no mention of trying to call Dumbledore to task. Perhaps it was the offer of lessons, but Draco felt it was more likely that the Head Master was attempting to take the Malfoy heir under his wing that scarred his father. He had to wonder if this would change the lessons on the Dark Arts he had received that first summer vacation. Certainly he hoped not. Lucius had so much to teach him and Draco craved that knowledge, dark though it was. Knowledge was a power he could ill afford to waste.

Unable to answer his own questions, Draco turned to his mother's letter and tore into it just as carefully.

_My Darling,_

_Forgive me for not writing you sooner, Draco, but your father had forbidden it. Your sorting caused him considerable anguish and, as you well known, he lashed out in his anger. Thankfully, he no longer considers your status as a Gryffindor to be a betrayal. I beg you to forgive him the opinion and think on it no more. He loves you, as do I, and merely wished the best for you. Let their be no more grief over such a trivial matter between our family._

_Severus tells us you are doing remarkably well in your classes. I am very proud of you, Draco, though I miss you terribly. The Manor is simply not the same without you around. If you wish, I am certain I can talk your father and the Headmaster into sending you home for a weekend._

_Please write me soon. I want to hear all about your time at Hogwarts, your friends and classes. __Everything__._

_All my love,_

_Narcissa_

_P.S. Enjoy the package. I made sure to include your favorite chocolates._

By the time he finished the letter, tears had tracked their way down his pale cheeks. His mother's familiar, graceful script and the tender, loving words were too much for him. Draco clutched at the letter, unwilling to let it go. Over and over he read the sentences, hearing her voice in his mind. A weekend home...Yes, he would like that, though he had refused the first time around out of pride. Now he couldn't wait to give his mother a hug.

Completely ignoring the package, Draco reached for his quill and parchment, intending to write his parents immediately. Instead the curtain pulled back and he found himself blinking up into concerned, green eyes.

"Potter!" Draco hissed, wiping quickly at the tears on his cheeks and glaring up at the intruding boy. "Don't you know how to announce your self? Is privacy so hard a concept for you to grasp?"

"I did. I called and you didn't answer," Harry replied, crawling onto the bed without asking and pulling the curtains closed again. "I was worried."

The silencing charm, Draco thought, and sighed exasperatedly. He had forgotten to seal the curtains closed as well. "I'm fine. Go away."

"You're not _fine_. You're crying. Did he tell you off again?"

"No, he...he said he was proud of me."

"So why are you crying?"

Draco averted his gaze to the rumpled parchment in his hands as spots of color appeared high on his cheeks. "My mother wrote me, too."

"Did _she_ tell you off?"

Mutely he shook his head and Harry gave him a perplexed look before understanding dawned. Draco wasn't sure what he thought he understood, however. "Well, I'm glad you're getting along, then." The boy paused and then abruptly changed the subject. "Why do you call me by my last name when you're mad at me?"

"What?"

"You do it to all of us. It's 'Harry' and 'Ron' when you like us, but 'Potter' and 'Weasley' when you're cross."

"Uh, I dunno. Just...a habit, I guess." When Harry didn't look convinced, Draco continued on before the questions could get more uncomfortable; he just wanted to write his letter, damn it! "It's like, you're different people when I'm cross, but after you're just Harry and Ron again."

"Oh, so you're never actually mad at _us_, just these other people."

"Yes. Will you go away now? I want to write my mum a letter."

"Sure, just don't forget I have quidditch practice. I want you to be there."

"What, why?" Draco stared, startled at his friend.

"Don't be daft, I've seen you fly. You have to give me pointers." For once, Harry looked nervous and uncertain. "I have my first game in just a month. Please, Draco, you _have_ to help me."

"Okay, okay, just...let me write my bloody letter."

"Deal!"

Sighing, he watched Harry disappear outside of his curtain again and shook his head. He was fairly certain he would catch hell if anyone found out he had his broom with him. Then again, the Headmaster knew so what was the worst that could happen?

Thoughtfully, Draco returned to his letter and began to write.


	9. Chapter 9: Chaser Malfoy

Arriving on the quidditch pitch brought a flood of unexpected memories. Every game, the wins and the losses, the shouting spectators, the obnoxious announcers, and the sheer thrill of flying. Leaving behind quidditch had been the only reason Draco never wanted to graduate, though he knew others had hated the protection from the war the school had offered. For him, the war had been a welcome challenge.

After he had been bitten, there was nothing left to Draco but to join the Light side; his parents were dead and Voldemort treated werewolves like dirt. However, his allies didn't trust him. Fighting by their side, he had had to prove he wasn't as evil as everyone thought he was every step of the way. Some days the challenge had been nearly overwhelming, but on others it had been worth it. Draco never backed down from a challenge and always excelled when pushed.

"Don't worry," Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder, startling the blonde from his thoughts. "I'm sure you'll make the team next year."

"As a reserve, sure," he shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"No way, once they see you fly, you'll be a starter for certain."

Draco scowled and looked around for Wood, but apparently the Gryffindor Captian was late for the secret practice. "How did you even know it was me?" he asked. No one had said a word until now and he had be certain his broom was a secret, as was his time flying alone. If Potter and Dumbledore knew, who else? Was he about to be served a week of detentions?

"Well," Harry's hand ran through his unruly hair, shifting through black strands as if he could pull them over his eyes and make the world disappear. It was a sure sign that he was uncomfortable, "I followed you one day, worried you know 'cause you were always running off on your own. Like you didn't want to be around us or something and I saw someone flying and...it was your scarf."

"What? My...scarf?"

"Yeah, I'm sure most people wouldn't notice-"

"Merlin's beard, Harry, how much bloody attention do you pay to what I'm wearing?"

Once upon a time, it would have thrilled him to see the Boy Who Lived turned such a brilliant shade of red. "I don't, just…they're so colorful and no one else has them. Plus, they're Slytherin colors, Draco! You don't wear them around too often, but it's hard to miss once you know, don't you think?"

Grey eyes blinked once, then the blonde reached to his throat where he was wearing one of the silver and emerald green scarves at that very moment. Exceptionally warm, they were perfect for flying in cold weather. It never occurred to him that his Housemates would take so much notice of a scarf, but the colors would make it stand out.

Pulling it off, Draco flicked his wand from its place up his sleeve and paused a moment in thought. In his mind, he reviewed the spell, then muttered the incantation. The garment rippled, colors shifting as an unfelt breeze made the cloth billow. Silver shifted to gold, green to red, and the wind died. Then Draco wrapped it about his throat again, tucking the ends neatly away.

"Not Slytherin colors," he said stiffly, ignoring his friend's wide-eyed look, "It's the colors of the Malfoy family crest."

"How did you do that?" Harry gushed and Draco felt a fool for using his advanced Transfiguration knowledge so impulsively. Too late to change that now.

"It's something Dumbledore taught me," he lied quickly, wishing he didn't have to, "I take lessons with him on Fridays." It wasn't exactly a lie; he just hadn't had one yet.

"So that's also where you get off to? Why didn't you say so?"

"Don't want people to know," Draco tried to sound casual, but he was anxious and could hear it in his voice, "I like how you all see me. I don't want it to change."

He could see Harry didn't understand, but he didn't question it either. "Well, you've gotta help me with my Transfiguration homework when we get back. It's brutal."

"Sorry I'm late," Wood's voice interrupted, "Snape kept me after cleaning up cauldrons. Malfoy, what're you doing here?"

"I asked him," Harry supplied quickly, "He's wicked quick on a broom and I wanted the help."

"First years can't have brooms," the Gryffindor Captain eyed Draco expectantly. "Well let's see it then."

The blonde repressed a sigh. Putting his fingers to his lips, he whistled sharp and piercing, the sound carrying all the way down to the Forbidden Forest. From out of the trees, his broom came whizzing in their direction, forcing Wood to dodge or be bowled over. Draco caught it from the air, then raised a a single, blonde eyebrow at the quidditch Captain.

"What charm is that?" Wood asked admiringly, not phased in the least by dodging a broom or that a First Year had one at all.

"Variation on Accio."

Wood waited for Draco to continue, but the blonde wasn't about to give up his secrets so easily. "Right. Up you go, then. I'll not have you helping my Seeker if you're shite on a broom."

The look Draco fixed on the fifth year was withering, but he mounted anyways and shot into the air without a word. The exhilarating rush of flying took over him then, banishing all thoughts of detention or rules. He wove through the air, twisting and diving, looping merely because he could. Wind rushed through his ears, the ground fell away and rushed back over and over until he heard his name being shouted from the ground. Turning, he darted back to where Harry and Wood were standing, breathing hard and grinning broadly. There was nothing else quite so good as flying.

"Well, I think Katie's gonna have my head," Wood said very quietly and Draco frowned at how the boy was staring at him.

"It wasn't that bad," the blonde defended himself, ruffled, but refusing to glance at Harry for support.

"That bad?" Wood was suddenly grinning. The change made Draco take a step back, nervous now. "It was brilliant! You're as good as Harry is!"

"What's this have to do with Katie, then?" The words came out too belligerent, but he couldn't help himself. Wood had him off his footing and Draco couldn't stand being so off guard.

"She was going to be Chaser this year, but I think you'd be brilliant."

"Draco's going to be on the team?!" Harry sounded far more excited than Draco would have expected and he glanced from his friend, then back to the quidditch Captain.

"Definitely. With him, my Chaser's will be unstoppable! Alicia is amazing at fouls and passing, Angelina has got speed and great hands. Neither of them has broom skills like that, though. It'll be perfect. No one can touch them! Then with you, there's no way we can fail to take the Quidditch Cup this year!"

The world began to spin around Draco. He was vaguely aware of the two students talking about getting permission from the Headmaster, about training regimens and the first game against Slytherin. The voices faded to a buzz as the implications washed over him. Katie Bell was supposed to be Chaser, not him. He was changing things. When she wasn't on the pitch, what would Katie do? What would she change? Would this change anything at all?

That first match…What had happened that first match? Or during the one against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw? All he could remember was who won; Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw. Nothing important had happened, but what if he'd missed something? Like thinking Granger had always been a part of the Golden Trio, his knowledge wasn't complete. Harry had to come into his own, had to face off against Voldemort and his cronies just as it was supposed to happen for the next six years. Harry had always said how those years shaped him, how crucial they were to the man he became. Draco couldn't interfere with that.

Afterward, he had to find the spy and then he could -

Vaguely he became aware of someone calling his name and focused again to see Harry's worried face inches from his own. The boy had been shaking him and he had been completely oblivious. "Draco say something!"

"He's in shock," Wood said confidently, "must not have expected to be put on the team like that."

"Another bad feeling?" Harry asked quietly.

Nodding slightly, Draco murmured, "Katie Bell is supposed to be Chaser."

"You're going to say no?" Something in his heart lurched as Harry's face fell. "But, you're so good…"

"No? He can't say no!" Wood knelt at Draco's side – When had he sat down? - and started blabbering on about duty and House honor, but all Draco could see was Harry's crestfallen look at the hopeful gleam in emerald eyes. It was just a quidditch game. What could possibly go wrong by changing a few school quidditch games?

"Yes," he blurted, interrupting Wood's speech. "I'll be Chaser."

The Gryffindor Captain whooped and started talking again, but Draco had eyes only for Harry and his excited smile.

* * *

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

A growl escaped Draco as Harry refused food again. It was the first quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and their Seeker was refusing to eat.

"If you don't eat, you might faint and fall right off your broom. How'll that look, then? The Boy Who Lived can't stay conscious during a game of quidditch?"

The sour look he was given was all the crack in Harry's armor that Draco needed. That he could work with. Nauseated looks and nervous fidgeting, not so much.

"Please, Harry," Draco let his voice soften and put toast, eggs and bacon on the boy's plate, "If you don't eat I'll spend the whole game worrying about you. Then we'll lose for sure."

"You'll do fine, mate," Ron piped up, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he shoved bacon into his mouth, "Don't worry so much."

"Draco had a bad feeling."

The words silenced any further protests from Ron and Hermione, the two exchanging glances before looking at the blonde sitting across from Harry. It took him a moment to figure out what they were talking about. "I wasn't talking about you. It was about me being Chaser."

"So? You had one."

"Doesn't mean anything."

"I don't know, Draco," Hermione spoke slowly, like she was afraid he'd explode if she wasn't cautious, "You had one the day Snape let the Troll in the dungeon," she hurried on as he scowled, knowing how he felt about them accusing Severus of that. The argument had devolved into a shouting match last night after Harry told them all he had seen the Potions Master with a nasty bite on his leg. Clearly, she didn't relish the thought of starting over. "Then again when Crabbe challenged Harry to a duel and we found the three-headed dog."

"Don't forget when Crabbe stole Neville's Rememberall," Ron added and Draco shot him a glare for being so helpful.

"We talked," Granger went on, looking more nervous as his scowl deepened, "Not anything bad! We just…We think you might be a seer."

"What?!" The entire table went silent, eyes sliding down to stare at Draco and his friends. Leaning forward, he hissed so the others wouldn't hear, "I am not a seer!"

"But you know when bad things are going to happen."

The confidence in Harry's voice made Draco feel ill. "No. No, I don't," he protested, earnestly, then was suddenly furious with them all. "I knew this was a terrible idea. I'm telling Wood to put Katie in. I quit."

"No!" Draco froze half way up from is seat at the panic in Harry's voice. "I need you on the team. I can't do this alone."

"Yes you can," the next words caught in Draco's throat, You've done it before.

Before he could recover, Harry was rushing on, "Please, Draco. I'm nervous enough as it is. Don't make me go out there by myself."

"Okay, okay," the blonde sighed, resuming his seat. The anger melted away and and he reached over to push Harry's plate closer to him, "but you have to eat something. And no more talk of this seer stuff. It's complete nonsense."

"Deal."

Harry dug reluctantly into his food, but Draco kept a close eye on him. That's how he missed the look Ron and Hermione exchanged. This wouldn't be the last time they brought it up.

* * *

A few hours later, Draco stood in the Gryffindor locker room and stared down at himself. The quidditch robes were...strange. They fit well enough, they were just…Red. Really, _really_ red. Draco had never looked good in red.

He felt uncomfortably out of place. It didn't help that the other two Chasers were apparently best friends with Katie Bell and pissed he had taken her spot. Even though they agreed he had been the better player during practice, so long as Katie was upset, they wouldn't be welcomingl. Wood had managed to get the girls to keep their animosity off the pitch, but it had been an uncomfortable month in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Up at the front of the room, Wood was trying to give a speech, but Fred and George were giving him a hard time. All the better, Draco thought, since they were doing it to cheer Harry up. The boy was far too nervous, but he couldn't just say, 'Hey! You'll win us the game for sure. I know it since I was there the first time.' That would give the idea he was a seer too much credibility. If Harry relied on his 'bad feelings' too much, or thought Draco had all the answers, he would never learn to rely on himself.

"Malfoy, are you listening?"

"No," Draco replied in an even drawl and the Weasley twins burst out laughing. Harry even cracked a smile. It had become a running joke, of sorts. Wood would give direction and Draco wouldn't follow it. The Gryffindor Captain was brilliant for strategy, but Draco was too used to working alone, than with a team. During practice against the reserve teams, he had taken to playing off what Angelina or Alicia were doing. He anticipated them well, being where they needed him to be or blocking an opposing Chaser when they needed it. In a huff, Wood had finally given up and let the blonde do what he wanted, concentrating instead of making sure Angelina and Alicia were doing what they needed to do.

It had worked so far, but this would be the real test. Draco knew if he didn't do well, Wood would put Katie back on the team. Not only did he drive the man mad, she was badgering him constantly to switch him onto the reserves.

"Right. Its time. Good luck, all of you."

Wood walked onto the pitch first, followed by Fred and George, then Harry, last being the three Chasers. Madame Hooch waited in the middle of the pitch, the Slytherin team approaching from the other side of the grass. Marcus Flint was a lot bigger than he remembered. He hadn't been this nervous since he confessed to Harry that the wolf in him had chosen the Boy Who Lived as shis mate. Climbing onto his broom, he was shaking, but then the whistle blew and fifteen brooms soared into the air.

Immediately he lost track of Harry as the quaffle was put into play, his attention completely monopolized by everything occurring at once. The nervousness vanished as Angelina raced up the field, Alicia and Draco flanking her on either side. One of the Slytherin Chasers – Adrian Pucey, he thought - made to block her, so she passed off to Alicia.

Distantly, he could hear the roar of the stands and Lee Jordan issuing commentary on the match. There was nothing for Draco, though, than that quaffle. He could see Alicia moving into position to shoot – and Flint rushing to intercept.

Pushing himself into a short dive, he cut in front of the big Slytherin, catching the ball inches before it would have been a successful intercept and executed a neat pass to Angelina. The roar from the crowd told me that she had scored as he was forced to dodge a bludger before turning back around to meet the Slytherins in possession of the quaffle.

Flint had the ball now and he was much more of a bull than any other Chaser on the field. All three Gryffindor Chasers knew better than to try to block him, but Fred and George were picking up the slack. Before he was half way across the pitch, not one, but two bludgers tried to take the man's head off and he was forced to pass as a third came racing his way. Pucey, now in possession, easily outpaced Alicia and attempted a shot at the Gryffindor goal posts. Draco held his breath, but the shot was easily knocked away by Wood. He had appeared from nowhere, then dropped into Alicia's hands like it was nothing.

Once again the Gryffindors were off down the field. Draco heard himself laugh as a bludger whipped past his shoulder and realized he was having more fun than he ever had as a Seeker. Maybe he would have to listen to Wood after all. Anything to keep doing this.

In hot pursuit of Pucey after he stole the quaffle from Alicia, Draco nearly collided with the Slytherin Chaser as he froze and dropped the actually _dropped_ the red ball. A flash of gold zipped past on his left and he spun in midair to watch the inevitable chase. Harry and Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, were already moving, diving towards the snitch. Harry was just a little bit faster and Draco held his breath as he thought the match would be over then. Then Flint was there, blocking Harry and sending his broom whizzing off course as Draco's heart lept into his throat.

Had this happened the first time? He couldn't remember, but he wanted to murder Flint. Below him the rest of the Gryffindors sounded like they'd like to see the Slytherin Captain take a hard dive to the ground too, but at least Madame Hooch had seen the blatant foul.

Alicia took the quaffle and easily scored them ten points.

The game continued on, passes and scores, the Weasley twins taking specific aim at Flint at every chance they got. Draco was a blur in the air, his Seeker reflexes just as useful – if not more so – now that he was a Chaser. They scored twice more before they noticed something was wrong with Harry.

How could he have forgotten? Watching him now, the boy's broom was clearly out of control and doing everything to buck him off. Draco felt like an idiot. Fred and George moved up to try to help, so Draco let his gaze fall to the stands. Quirrell. Where the hell was Quirrell?

Draco found him near Snape, both Professor's eyes locked on Harry, mouths moving in incantation. Severus, he knew, would be attempting the counter jinx and Hermione…Grey eyes hunted the stands, until he found her just in time to watch as she tripped over _Katie Bell_.

A pit formed in Draco's stomach and he knew he had to do something fast. This was his fault; Katie should have been up here, not in Hermione's way. She was up and rushing toward the two teachers, but what if she didn't make it in time?

Flying up to circle like Fred and George, he disguised his casting as best he could, but when flying there was little he could do and aim properly. Casting silently, he flicked his wand and watched the little puff of orange light zip toward the stands. Draco prayed no one noticed him, especially once the fire started. It spread quickly, screams and cries filling the air. He knew someone had gotten hurt, but it worked; both Professors were forced to abandon their incantations to help put the blaze out or be burnt to a crisp.

Looking up as he slipped his wand away as discreetly as possible, Draco was just in time to watch Harry dive out of the sky, broom clearly under his control once more. He followed back to the pitch and burst out laughing as the boy spat up the snitch and held it high into the air for everyone to see.

It was only then, as the rest of the team celebrated and Hagrid, Ron, and Hermione bustle Harry away, that he let himself look at the destruction he had caused. Guilt and dread clamped down on his stomach as he watched Hooch and Snape carrying two students off toward the school. They were alive, and no one else seemed to be hurt, but he knew it was his fault. Yet...he would do it again.

Had anyone seen him? Draco glanced around, but didn't see a single suspicious eye turned his way. If he was very, very lucky, everyone's gaze had been focused on Harry. He could only pray and try not to remember the screams.


End file.
